Truly a Warrior
by outlaw author
Summary: A unique member of King Arthur's cavalry ponders her part in the upcoming battle. Will she prove herself worthy to be called a King's Companion? Rated T for mature themes. Please R&R!


**Disclaimer:** I do not own King Arthur, and am making no profit from this story.

**A/N:** Elements of this story were somewhat inspired by Rosemary Sutcliff's novel about King Arthur, _Sword at Sunset_, and so has nothing really to do with the movie. But since there isn't any King Arthur subcategory in the book section, I had to put it here. Hope y'all enjoy!

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**Truly a Warrior**

You are a warrior on the eve of your first battle. Staring into the fire with your companions, you watch the flickering yellow light dance on the heavily muscled arms of all the men, doubt once again filling your mind. The Saxons have been attacking since spring: raiding, burning and pillaging. Many of the men have died and that is why you – a woman – are now among the ranks of the elite King's Companions, the only cavalry in this army. You have been training for this all your life, never expecting to need your skills. That is why gnawing insecurity spreads now through your mind.

You lurch to your feet, bones creaking wearily and stumble to your horse. He whickers happily to see you and snuffs all over, expecting you to have a treat. You explain that you have not come to feed him, and struggle with the buckles on the straps of your pack. After much fumbling, you manage to extract your bedroll and drag it next to the fire. Lying down, you feel a chill from the ground seep through your bedroll and settle into your bones, making you shiver despite the warmth of the nearby fire.

You spend a lot of time staring up at the stars – those fallen heroes of old whose names have become legend, wishing you could be one of them, although hopefully not in tomorrow's battle. Finally you drift off.

Swearing to yourself that you have only been asleep for two minutes, you jerk to your feet as someone wakes you up for your watch. Trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes, you make your way through the maze of bedrolls and sleeping mats to your post. You lean on your spear and stare bleary-eyed into the darkness surrounding you. The hours seem to stretch on and on, and you are so weary that you almost fall asleep standing up. Luckily, an owl hoots nearby, startling you into wakefulness once more.

Finally the dawn creeps up. Light washes over the leaves of the trees and tinges the sky with shades of pink and orange. Your tired mind registers the fact that it is beautiful, but is too tired to derive much inspiration from it.

The morning begins with the sounds of clanking pots, crackling fires, and sizzling breakfasts. Your own breakfast tastes bland and dry on your tongue. Someone sits down next to you and you look around to see your betrothed. Handing you something, he says, "I carved this for you, to bring good luck to your first battle."

"Thank you," you manage to say, and hang the token around your neck. Your betrothed gives a quick, fierce hug, then stands up again and strides away to give orders to his men.

You stare into space for a few minutes, trying to gather your thoughts, knowing that this day will be one you shall remember forever, when you realize that you have not seen your father since yesterday morning.

You walk over to his tent, and lifting the flap, peer in. "Father?"

"Come in," he says, looking up from a parchment.

"Any fatherly advice for me today?" you ask, trying to joke and hide the apprehension you feel at the coming battle.

"Do your best to stay alive, because if you die, I'll kill you." You laugh, but appreciate the concern.

"Thanks. And believe me – I'll try my best." You hug your father and say, "May the gods be with us today."

"Indeed. With such odds, we shall have sore need for them to be on our side."

Stepping out into the sunlight again, you rush to get your orders. You, as a King's Companion, are under the direct command of the King himself. You saddle up your horse and ask his pardon for being a little rough this morning, and give him an apple you saved from your breakfast. You clamber stiffly onto your horse and nudge him into line with the others of the King's Companions. Lining up along the ridge, you gaze down into the valley. If you squint, you can see the sunlight glinting off the enemy's weapons, just inside the edge of the forest.

Glancing at your tattooed arms, you remember the day they had painted you as a warrior. You had stung all over, but now you believe the end result was worth the pain.

You look past the cavalry lines at the footmen. The right wing is commanded by your betrothed, and the left wing is commanded by your father. You send a prayer to the gods, asking that they deliver the two men you love.

You grow almost saddle-sore with waiting and begin to shift in your saddle when the horns sound. The king, Artos himself, leads the cavalry charge. You and your horse surge into action, thundering down the hill toward the yelling Saxons, screaming in reply.

You cut and block almost automatically, guarding your thighs, for you know that is where cavalrymen get the most wounds. Someone drives a pike into your horse, bringing him down almost on top of you, but you roll away and begin to fight on foot.

Then the horse-murderer, the Saxon, drops his pike, advancing slowly, stealthily, moving like a cat, pretending now to lunge this way, now that, now retreating, while drawing his bloodied sword. He chops and thrusts forward and stabs, his eyes glaring red hate and his moves coolly calculated to infuriate you. Then suddenly he darts forward on his toes, as fast as he had been clumsy before. He twirls his sword quickly above his head; there is a glare of light reflecting off it from the sun and you lunge forward in the split second his guard is open while holding his down-sweeping blade above your head with your arm. Your sword sinks through his gut and as you pull it out, he chokes up blood. His blade arm goes limp, so you drop it and look for your next foe.

The rest of the battle is a blur; the red battle haze before your eyes prevents you from remembering anything but the endless yelling, blocking and thrusting. At the end of the battle, you stand on the field, the decimated Saxon warriors lying strewn in odd positions all around you. You are surprised to find that the sun shows that is barely past noon. Some of the men are searching the field; looking for their own wounded or dead, sometimes giving the needed mercy blow and rounding up the remaining living Saxons as prisoners. Pain in your right arm reminds you that you have not survived the battle unscathed. Kneeling in the grass, you wipe your sword clean and sheathe it.

You enter the healers' tents to get your wounds cleaned and stitched up. There is a long line of wounded ahead of you, but you wait patiently searching among them for your betrothed and your father. You do not see them, but eventually a novice gets to you and salves and bandages the gash in your upper arm. You are weary with fatigue, but you are grateful to be alive.

That night you find yourself staring into the fire again. But now you are wondering not about your own skills in battle, but where your father and betrothed could be. You are staring not at other's muscles, but at the light dancing on the warrior-patterns of your own arm muscles. The light is glaring at the red weals of your wounds and you are wondering if you will end up with scars like your father.

A log falls, sending sparks up. You watch them rise into the air and discover two faces staring back into yours. Your father and betrothed walk over to you; your father is limping slightly and your betrothed cradles a wounded arm. You rise and give your father a hug and your betrothed a kiss, being careful not to bump his wounded arm.

The three of you sit down and share the events of the day. Carefully leaning your head on your betrothed's shoulder, he takes your hand and whispers into your ear, "You are truly a warrior."

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**A/N:** I wrote this for a school assignment in ninth grade, so I'm sorry if you don't think it's up to par with my more recently-written stories. I'd love it if you reviewed, though, and let me know what you thought! 


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